


Fleshgraphs

by Hierophant



Series: paradise lost [1]
Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga), Devilman Crybaby - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Post-Ending, T for gore, it's just. introspection. and more introspection. enjoy, please read only after you finish the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 02:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13378422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hierophant/pseuds/Hierophant
Summary: The mind is its own place, and in it selfCan make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n.





	Fleshgraphs

Akira is dead. His body has been severed near his navel; his legs are nowhere to be found. The cut isn’t clean—flaps of dried skin cover his insides, which has been reduced to a group of wrinkling muscles gathering, sphincter-like, around his jutting spine. There is no mess, no accidental leakage of non-existent organs—he was a monster, after all—no dying horror on his face. Only his bluish skin and muddy eyes give away his death. Ryo lies beside him, his wings beating limply against the ground like swaying, oversized kelp. If he closes his eyes, he can almost be tricked into feeling the residual heat on Akira’s skin. A pale, otherworldly glow clings onto him, as if reminding him that he is imperishable.

He is looking up. It could be seconds or days since the fighting ended—he didn’t know or care. The moon, now missing half of itself, too, has come closer into Earth’s orbit. It sits on the horizon, gigantic, as if trying to find balance in itself again. The rabbit that they saw on the surface is now gone, its mythical palace uprooted.

 _You can see the stars clearly. It’s because all the humans are gone,_ he begins…

 

_—ghosts don’t exist, Ryo said matter-of-factly, his childish voice taking on the tone of a coroner._

_—they do! They totally do! Akira was insistent._

_—if you can’t see it or feel it, it’s not real. You can’t see or feel ghosts, can you?_

_—they’re real! Maya told me so! Maya was their classmate. Ryo had broken her arm when she play-fought with Akira, not fully aware of why he did it._

_—ghosts don’t exist. There are no such thing as ghosts. Only dead matter and our flesh are real._

 

He remembers the first time he met Akira again. Their lives, separated for nearly a decade, were wound together again; Akira had embraced him as if no time passed at all, his slight figure melding with Ryo’s white coat, corroding its foreboding silhouette. Ryo remembers circling his own arms around Akira’s small waist, unsure if he felt anything but the shape of his gun between their torsos. They always fit together perfectly somehow, when Ryo’s body was draped over Akira’s on his bike, or when they were fighting and they pushed and pulled in perfect sync. Even if Ryo was lying all along.

He didn’t know when his maliciousness turned into something more confusing. He was unafraid for Akira when he was out to fight demons all night, so why did he feel a tug of annoyance when one day he stopped finding Akira asleep in his apartment one night? He couldn’t decipher the meaning behind his own thoughts, didn’t want to think about it even as he flipped through photos of them obsessively. He was so used to Akira’s empathetic crying that he began to rely on the other boy to judge his own reactions, let Akira’s misunderstanding of him metamorphose his intentions into something more palatable, more virtuous, even, like polishing rock into crystal. Even in their years apart Ryo would often ask himself, _how would Akira feel?_ , assimilating to doctoral students almost twice his age by visualizing in his mind the face of a boy he last saw when he was seven. In his hubris, he had called his habit _becoming human_ , believing himself blessed to exceed others in intelligence and beauty; how apt the phrase is now—would Akira have cried for him?

 _Akira_ , he breathes, repeats it: _Akira._ He wonders about the structure and etymology of the name—a sun next to a moon, meaning brightness. When he thinks of the snowy mountains of his childhood he sees Akira there too, not just as his best friend carving snow angels into their memories, but him as glittering snow itself, too. He sees Akira in solar eclipses and his own bleak apartment, sees him in the shifting flecks of light gliding on the pool’s surface, sees him as sunlight filtering through the blinds to run off the side of the kitchen faucet. Akira has become a manifestation of _something_ that has embedded itself into Ryo’s consciousness, almost as if it was a will, a belief.

_—there’s no such thing as love._

_Akira._ Now he’s gone, flesh being transitioned into empty shell. Ryo can see him, touch him, but he is gone. The world became strange and inhospitable the moment Akira left it. _Akira_ , Ryo says again, almost wailing. _So this is the shape of love, the sound of it._ Pressure builds his chest. He imagines a hand bursting from where he hurts the most, ripping past his skin to feel what must be the outline of the dull pain that now grips his throat. Perhaps he should have known earlier: what he wanted was for them to be in paradisal peace, next to the lighthouse that shouldn't have been destroyed. Akira was more Ryo than he himself ever was, a necessary part of his existence, not so much a comfort as a necessity. _Satan and the Devilman—could they not be one?_ Instinctively, as if a child searching for comfort, he turns to caress Akira’s face; yet the dazzling light of Akira’s ear cuff confuses and frightens him.

Ryo understands now. He lies, baring his chest to their shared sky, his existence perennial. Akira’s flesh has begun to unwind into the ground, the outer bits of his body detaching in yellow chunks. This, too, will be gone, Ryo knows, perhaps even before his love rots; this lonely world will not live to see the stars above them decouple and disintegrate, even if he does. He cries now, understands the weight of love, the translucent thickness of it, even if Akira doesn’t feel his inhuman sorrow. In another time, in another iteration… The grace of God descends upon Earth, observed by no-one but the one being who will not receive it.

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Devilman for the memes!!! I don’t deserve this pain!!! I have a playlist for this show now and it consists only of ‘Fools’ and ‘idfc’!! This is a problem!!  
> Anyways, I really like the idea of a man-made devil and a Satan that begins to understand mankind. I like the time loop thing as well—I personally think that Ryo would be reincarnated with the Earth too, since evil always exists amongst and within us. Ryo may forget what he has learned, or maybe he won’t. That’s a fanfic that someone should write (I’m a one-shot monster so it won’t be me).  
> And to clarify: in Asian mythology, the bunny on the moon lives in a palace.
> 
> Find me on twitter @soozakoo I mostly retweet quality memes and complain about college (like every college student with a twitter honestly)


End file.
